


And Even in Our Sleep

by LeonLoire94



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Community: flash_rider, M/M, New Years, Sleepy Sex, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-11
Updated: 2010-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 16:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeonLoire94/pseuds/LeonLoire94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for flash_rider's 7th prompt 'And Even in Our Sleep'.  <br/>How did the simple act of a rebellious youngster turning up on his doorstep for the New Year turn into this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Even in Our Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Alex Rider series or The BBC.

"What are you doing here?"   
The rain dripped off the frame above his head, splashing around his bare toes.   
"How did you find me?"   
The vaguely human form that stood on his doorstep looked more like a drowned rat than a young teen. "I just wanted to wish you a happy New Year s'all."   
Yassen allowed Alex to enter his abode, then halted him with a hand to his wet chest. "That doesn't answer my second question."   
Alex stood in the hallway, pigeon-toed, suddenly feeling rather awkward as he dripped on the wood floor beneath him. A towel was draped over his head and his hair was rubbed dry.

Yassen was surprisingly gentle as he divested the teen of all his sopping wet clothes, dried him thoroughly, and dressed Alex in a spare outfit.

They ended up seated on the dark red sofa that was almost sickeningly soft, watching the start of the annual New Year's show that the BBC aired. Alex almost fell asleep a few times before the older man pulled him upstairs and put him to bed.  
"Get some sleep," he said quietly. "I'll wake you when it's time."

 

* * *

 

Yassen lay on the bed beside Alex and studied him silently, wondering how the simple act of a rebellious youngster turning up on his doorstep for the New Year had turned into this. Maybe he was searching for the father figure he never had.

Alex groaned in his sleep, head flinging to the right, sweaty golden locks flicking the man in the arm. A small, slender arm snaked its way across his torso, hand grazing the clavicle above his chest before drifting down to the pulsing heart. The fingers drew small circles over the fluttering beat, before continuing their journey. Alex's fingertips were soft as they slipped over the dented bullet wound just below his heart, travelling to trace light abs. The young teen rolled onto his side, pressing himself against the assassin's leg as he grazed pearly teeth over a pale shoulder.

Okay, maybe not the 'father figure' thing.

Shifting a bit, the red haired man inadvertently rubbed Alex, thigh nudging the thing Yassen _really_ hoped was a gun. He grunted as Alex's nails grazed the sensitive area just on his hip. There was no way that this boy was doing this in his sleep at the tender age of fourteen.

But oh, he was.

Yassen's breath hitched when fingers dipped under the elastic of his boxers, petting auburn curls before curling loosely around his slowly hardening member. Yassen flinched, inhaling quietly as he watched the young boy beside him stir from the sudden movement.   
Bleary-eyed, Alex looked at the man, speaking quietly. "Why is my hand...in your shorts?"

"You put it there, Alex. In your sleep."

"Oh." And he was out.

Yassen doubted that he was even awake to begin with.

A few minutes later, the assassin remembered the hand down his pants – mainly because the slim fingers decided to drag up his half-hard length. Blond strands were brushing his cheek as Alex murmured, "Shall I do that again?" He wrapped his hand around Yassen's hard member, pumping slowly.   
Yassen's eyes rolled into the back of his head when the teen decided to quicken his pace. He moaned, a high pitched moan. He clamped a hand over his mouth, lest he make any more noise as the pumping got even faster. "Alex!"   
Alex jumped, eyes snapping open at the sudden yell. "W-what?!"   
Then, it dawned on him. The hand in Yassen's boxers, the pulsing member in his grasp and the fact that he himself was only a little bit away from painting the inside of Yassen's spare boxers white.   
"Shit! I'm sorry." Alex started to withdraw his hand but Yassen grabbed his wrist, pushing it back towards himself.

"You've already started. Why not finish?"

Alex tried to convey a look of 'I'm not very good and I'm worried' but Yassen saw straight through it, knowing full well from his own experiences that Alex would spend every opportunity he could with the company of his hand.   
Releasing the grip on his wrist, Yassen's hand travelled to the tent behind the thin cotton, his fully grown 'man-sized' hand covering the slightly smaller package with ease. "I'll even help you in return."   
Just the right amount of pressure was applied and Alex keened, pumping the older man a few times as he gyrated into the redhead's palm. The pressure left and Alex thought for a moment it wasn't going to return, but then there were long fingers encircling his dick and drifting over his balls and oh _God_, it felt so good. Alex only just remembered to pump Yassen's needy member, pleasure overriding his senses as he straddled pale thighs, adjusting his grip to use both hands as he was pulled over the edge. Yassen's body became taut a few strokes later – almost as if every muscle in his body were on a string – as his essence painted Alex's hand a creamy off-white colour. Panting, the two just lay there, boneless as jellyfish.

"Y'know...we've only been asleep for an hour. It's ten to twelve. D'you wanna go downstairs?" Alex smiled.

Yassen reflected the boy's expression. "I'd like nothing better."

 

* * *

 

Yassen still remembered that cold, rainy night, running it through his head while a mop of blond hair nuzzled into his chest, just as it had one year earlier on that fateful New Year's Day.

"Y'know, Jack'd never let me do this," Alex said, gazing into the bubbling champagne in his glass as the Londoners on the television chimed out the countdown.

"It's Russian tradition, as is making a wish on every chime of the clock."

"Three!" Alex held up his glass, as did Yassen.

"Well then–"

"Two!"

"–let us wish in the new year together."

"One!"

The world cheered.

The glasses clinked in harmony and they drank from their flutes as Big Ben rang twelve times.

Once for every wish.


End file.
